Doctor Who :: Return of the Dinosaurs
by MekQuarrie
Summary: A wild conspiracy in the American Northeast gets out of hand. Which would you save? The past? Or the future? :: An homage to the Malcolm Hulke classic 'The Dinosaur Invasion' set in the rebooted Doctor Who multiverse. 12 Chs. :: 'Anning plesiosaur' image reworked from Wikimedia Commons.
1. Chapter 1 - The South Shore Terror

Chapter 1: The South Shore Terror

Oona Murphy woke up that morning with a pounding headache. She found it difficult to move at first, without the feeling of being sick beginning to overcome her. Her head was pounding, reminding her forcefully of each drink she had consumed the previous evening. Shots of tasty liqueurs, colored cocktails, frosted vodka, Irish coffee (of course), iced tea (no alcohol in that one). Some prescription medication to beat down the headache; some over the counter tablets to settle the nausea, and some fizzy caffeine mixes to keep her awake. (And probably some slightly less proprietary chemicals.)

She sat up with a start, reviewing her state of attire. Her honor was intact, but her memory was still fried. Her mind turned to more recent events. About a week ago one of her Dublin friends, Charlie, had said, 'Oona, we're driving down to the South Shore for a Fourth of July party. Why not come along?'

'Isn't that Atlantic City? I'm too broke for that' she explained. 'Go without me this time. I'll come, on Labor Day'.

'We're going in Sad Alec's car,' they replied. 'It'll cost you nothing.'

So four of them had got into the Pontiac, two in the front two in the back, boxes of beer in the trunk. By the time they travelled down the Turnpike and reached Wildwood six hours later, Oona had forgotten where they were going or why. She was exhausted.

She remembered waking up in this house the next morning. Tracy Wing, a medical student from Cork, was shaking her shoulders.

'Oona, wake yourself. We've got to head back to New York!'

Oona's sleepy brain tried to make sense of the situation. 'But we're in Atlantic City, and we're going to a firework party.'

'Not now we're not,' said Tracy. She was already fully dressed. 'Everyone's got to leave this bit of the shore. It's an emergency.'

Alec, the owner of the car, came to the door of the little bedroom and yelled, 'What are you doing? Come and get in the car, Tracy. We're leaving right now!'

Tracy protested. 'My friend Oona's still here in bed. She's not looking too good.'

Alec looked down at Oona. 'If you don't get yourself into the car double quick, you can stay here and die! Come on, Tracy, let's be off.'

The two of them tumbled out of the room bickering. Oona thought that they had both gone mad, or maybe she was hallucinating. She turned over and went back to sleep.

When she woke up later the guesthouse was completely silent. Dizziness and a slight cold sweat forced her to stand and seek hydration. Standing at the top of a short flight of stairs, she called out: 'Hello? Anybody there?'

There was no answer. She went down the stairs to the little corridor behind the main door. Called again. There was no answer. She stumbled thru a communal laundry room, and then on into a long kitchen. There were translucent tubs of breakfast cereal sitting out on worktops and a carton of Florida orange juice sitting on its own. Oona poured out a glass of juice and drank it quickly. Finding it warm but acceptable, she poured and drank a second glassful. Despite some frosted windows looking out onto a back yard, it was a bit dim in the kitchen, so Oona took a chance that her prickly eyes would react well to illumination and she flipped the switch for the overhead light. Nothing happened. She tried the electric kettle and the cooker too and discovered that there was no power to the kitchen at all, possibly not even to the whole house.

'What a dump' she thought. Her crazy friends had dragged her here to New Jersey for a party which did not seem to exist and then bailed out on her. Not funny. She had to find a ride back to her digs in New York.

She made her way back thru to the main part of the lodgings and up a short corridor to the reception counter (a barely converted ledge in a doorway). Some ancient paperbacks - Soroyan and Kafka - were left carelessly on the carpet alongside oddments of footwear. She briefly called out over the counter into the 'office', a TV set sitting inactive in the corner, then pushed open the screen door to leave. She exited onto an elevated balcony reached by sturdy wooden stairs.

Before descending, she looked out over the street. A quiet side street in a well-to-do seaside town. Automobiles parked neatly to the curb, but noone in sight, noone driving around. The sun setting quickly, the breeze drifting gently in from a nearby beach. But no seaside sounds, arcade machines, rollercoaster screams, children laughing, youths screaming.

Something was not quite right. Her friends had been talking about danger and death before their departure. Before she went out onto the street, she decided to recover a little more, get her head straight.

After half an hour at the reception desk (really a comfy little TV room), staring at the dusty net drapes, Oona Murphy got up. After only a few waking hours, she had become a little claustrophobic of living in this unfamiliar property. On her own. She kept hoping that her friends would come back or a friendly police car or fire truck would pass in the street. She couldn't figure out why they had left so quickly; left her on her own.

She had tried the telephone, but there was no activity at all. The electricity and the gas were unavailable. The water had no pressure. 'This might be the best decorated squat in the whole of the Armpit' she said to herself. But this was clearly a well-populated street and it had it lacked any kind of noise whatsoever. No buzz. No hum. No presence. Oona wished she was back in Manhattan, in the noisy apartment block by the Park, where she knew almost no-one. Here, there was no-one to know.

Then, a rush of bravery overcame her. She ran to the front door, and went out on to the porch. Where were all the people who lived in this odd place? They couldn't be dead. The smell was fresh, salty, mostly unpolluted.

Barely thinking, she descended the steps to the street, looked up and down the road. Cars parked badly, dumped. She looked up at the building opposite, another guest-house painted a reliable blue. It seemed inhabitable, but quiet. 'Hello' she hesitantly chirped. 'Hello' again, louder.

She looked around to see if anyone was watching her, the victim of a crazy prank. But she was alone and, now, she was alone and determined to find out what was wrong with this crazy place.

One way looked like the main road back to the freeway, slightly grubby with stores and direction signs. The other seemed to lead to the shore, pleasant sea-side advertisements and the glimpse of shiny amusements.

It was about midday, so she kept to the shady side of the street, bumping down into the road and bumping up again as she covered the blocks. She kept her eyes up toward the roofline, possibly expecting to see an aircraft or other sign of activity, and reached the block before the beach without incident. She heard at last some sign of normality, gulls squawking around the beach.

Between a salt-water taffy store and a tattoo shop she could see the wooden planking at the start of a boardwalk. She passed between the buildings eager to see if any person was there. Unfortunately, there was.

**:::**

The military helicopter landed without delay at the County Airport in Cape May. The pilot, Teresa Martinez, stayed resolutely in her cabin while a platoon of Unites States Marines disembarked, complete with weapons and munition boxes. She looked back over her shoulder, polarized spectacles hiding any surprise in her eyes. The short bench seats were empty, but a slight, solitary figure remained. A pretty young woman in a business suit sat casually reading a paperback. The pilot turned back to the controls, clicked the mic.

"Tower? Clear to depart?" she inquired.

There was a pause, followed by a click, and an anonymous reply.

"Please hold."

"That's odd," she thought. "And that's given the already odd situation."

She turned to the seating area, leaned back and called thru the open cabin door.

"Ma'am?"

There was no response. She raised her voice politely.

"Ma'am. Where did you get on my aircraft?"

The girl looked up from her reading, a little bashful. The book was closed smartly; 'Cat's Cradle', old and yellowed, psychedelic cover.

"Hi there. The name's Goddard. I got on at Atlantic City. When you dropped off the Governor." She smiled (almost beautifully) and proffered a tentative hand at the door.

"Are you supposed to be here, Miss Goddard? You can't just jump on a random chopper in AC and get a free ride back to the college dorm. This is the heart of the mess here."

Goddard looked surprised in a very unconvincing way. The pilot wondered if she might be some sort of journalist. Probably a freshman looking for a Pulitzer on a stick.

"The mess?"

"You know, Ma'am..." A full pause. "Monster Country."

**:::**

Oona held back at the corner of the ice-cream stall. A person lay dead on the boardwalk, flat and gone, but very much the focus of attention. Gulls flitted in and pecked at the body, fighting and squawking. She rushed forward, waving her arms. "Shoo. Get off of him. Shoo."

The birds reluctantly cleared and hopped barely a few metres away. Oona looked over the ravaged figure. A young surfer lad, bare chest, long shorts, half a beard. But the cause of his demise was clear, if a little eroded by the attention of seashore birds. Three great gashes from his abs up to his shoulder. Like the swipe of a tiger's claws, but bigger; much bigger. A vicious attempt to tear open the belly, unsuccessful, but fatal. This had to have some connection to the empty town. A large wild animal was on the loose. "Escaped from the zoo?" she thought. "But what is it?"

She thought carefully about searching for some identification to notify police or security, maybe even a family about the tragedy. But she was trying hard, too, not to think that this was a dead person, and killed dead too. Staying around was a bad idea.

Her thoughts were diverted by more screeches behind her. Oona turned back to shout at the maddening seabirds behind, but the gulls had gone. Perched on the brow of the sea front store was a dark, bat-like creature, leathery wings folded around its body, a monstrous spear-like bill grooming the outside of the wings. In the second it took for Oona to wonder if it had seen her, the screeching horror tumbled over the edge of the roof and swooped toward her. Every last drink from the previous evening passed before her eyes in a taunting procession. "I'm giving up alcohol right now" she pledged as the beak struck her head.

**:::**

Teresa liked to think that whatever helicopter she was detailed to fly became her property and her responsibility. The overly grinning young woman sitting in the back of vehicle now was officially intruding into her space.

"She looks like a Fed with that suit," she thought. "Everyone wants a piece of this action."

She inquired over the radio again. "Tower? Clear to depart?"

"Orders on their way over" came the curt response. Teresa blinked and defiantly concluded that she would only wait five minutes and then return to New York. Those were the orders that she had in hand.

A man (another dark suit) ran over the dirt to the helicopter and leaned in thru the slide-door. He fake-smiled at her and produced a gold police badge from his pocket. The rather-smug eagle adorning the top of the shield confirmed his provenance.

"I'm sorry to divert you from your main duties, Flight Officer Martinez. We need you to drop Special Agent Goddard at the Coastguard Station in Diamond Beach. Then you can return to Manhattan." He held up a poorly copied fax of a map location. There was a blurred military seal and authenticating signature in the corner.

Teresa was surprised. "Isn't that in the restricted area? No flights are allowed over that bit of the coast."

"We have received a special dispensation for this - ah - task. You'll be covered by the paperwork."

"I'm not so worried about the paperwork covering me. It might be nice to know there was a bit of firepower watching over me if one of those monsters decides to appear."

Fake-smile. "As you've heard, there are no 'monsters'. Some news outlet intern decides to mishear a medical report and the conspiracists are jumping in their RVs to come spot a... d-dinosaur. Or whatever sells movies nowadays.

"These are an addition to your current orders and can be challenged by review. Thru the usual channels. Upon your return to base."

The suited man turned away politely, finally, and turned to Goddard. "Good luck, Diana." He nodded then slam-locked the slide-door and walked back to the tower.

Teresa turned back to her console cursing. A five-minute digression into The Mess. Then five minutes back to her previous route. What could possibly go wrong?

She turned back to her solitary passenger. "Buckle up ma'am. I don't wish to be in the air for any longer than three-hundred seconds."

Goddard smiled, returned the paperback to her purse and looked for the safety harness. "The sooner the better, I always say" she chirped.

As the rotors fired up to take-off speed, Teresa turned back again. "So you're a Special Agent, Miss Goddard?"

"Oh yes," Diana replied. "A Very Special Agent."

**:::**

Oona fell backward over the edge of the wooden decking, the flying creature tugging horribly at her hair. Her head twisted awkwardly, opposite to the direction of the rest of her body. She felt her head tearing open, then she fell to the sand below.

Oona woke on the sand. She felt dizzy and nauseous. How long had passed? Possibly only seconds. But her face was sore from the harsh, hot sand and warm blood ran down her cheeks to her neck. This felt bad.

Shaking her head, she knew she had to get out of the way, get out of sight of that monstrous reptilian bird. Was it still hovering over her? Perched up on the boardwalk?

She wiped blood and hair from her eyes. The beach was empty. Nothing up on the boardwalk. Nothing in the sky, circling malevolently. The gulls squabbling again in the distance were just that - gulls squabbling.

Thankfully this particular boardwalk was nowhere near as high off the beach as the one at Atlantic City. The fall had been minimal, onto accommodating sand. Had her skull been lucky with the bird-strike too? A few tentative presses with her fingers revealed that the creature had fled with the clump of hair extensions at the front of her head. The weight of falling had torn her scalp and generated copious blood, but - medical advice pending - her skull had avoided any of the drama of the attack and the fall.

She moved into the shade under the boardwalk, catching her breath, forcing herself to breathe normally. A pterodactyl. The thought struck her firmly. "That bat-thing. Just like a pterodactyl from a museum. Must be something they found deep in the Amazon. Ugly. And it's escaped." She had seen a 'King Kong' movie on television as a child. "Someone clever has found this thing and brought it back as a circus act. Now it's all gone wrong. And I'm the interval snack." She laughed. And sighed.

"A plan," she whispered aloud. "I need a plan to get me noticed. A plan to get me rescued."

She thought carefully, putting together the elements of a sea-shore location, an urgent rescue, and the need for high visibility.

"I need to find a sailing shop or a yacht chandlers. They'll have a radio. Or flares."

A plan had been hatched.

**:::**

Teresa guided her chopper at low level over the creeks and marsh using the distant Diamond Beach water tower as a waymark. After a few seconds the pools and small rivers fed into the expanse of the Jarvis Sound and they were skimming the surface of the wide open water. The Sun shone obliquely on the surface of the lake, sealing the view of what might have been beneath. Not a time to worry about the danger below. Following the outline of the Sound would have taken much longer, and - who knew? - might have been just as dangerous.

After a few seconds of holding her breathe, the aircraft once again crossed the marshy border. She glimpsed the calm figure of Special Agent Goddard, again casually reading her paperback, oblivious to any issue of excitement or general interest in geography.

They were now rapidly approaching the white painted hotels and holiday homes at the southern end of the island and the more organized grounds of the Coastguard Station. From their slight elevation, some of the results of the evacuation were clear. A few vehicles abandoned at the side of the Ocean Highway. Some vehicles crashed helplessly into buildings or street signs. Black streaks on the whitewash where small fires had gone unattended. The State Governor had used a Hurricane plan to order an immediate evacuation and it had largely succeeded, but his reasons had been a little difficult to prove, and now he was proving difficult to find.

Teresa brought the helicopter in over the main quadrangle of the Station, a series of highly maintained grass squares. The main pad was at the far end, but she fully intended to land in the quad briefly, then depart quickly. As they descended the last few metres to the grass of the central square, it became clear that a large herd of small creatures was grazing on the abandoned grass. Their small blobby bodies were appended with long snaking necks and equally long whip-tails.

"What are they?" asked Diana, now showing interest.

Teresa brought the vehicle to a low hover at a height which would normally allow troops to jump awkwardly to the ground, but she kept the slide-door locked. The creatures looked a little disinterested, and a little slow to move.

"Lizards?" she speculated.

"Just eating the grass. Like cattle," observed Diana. "Shouldn't be any trouble to us."

"When you can land this thing in the middle of a herd of cattle, you can decide what is trouble. Sit tight."

Teresa let the chopper descend slowly toward the grass. The buzzing noise and focused downdraft started to catch the attention of the oblivious grazers. A few romped away instantly, some skipped a short distance then returned to eating the grass. A small patch was forming that could be targetted as a landing area. The herd started to shift as a whole and then, as a group, started to rumble back toward the shore.

"Make it quick. I'm not landing," shouted Teresa. Diana nodded and went to the slide-door, pulling it open. She paused and assessed the drop to the deck. It was still nearly two metres to jump, from an unstable - and impatient - platform. She held her document case and prepared to jump.

"Trouble."

Diana looked back, not quite sure what the pilot had said or even if she had spoken. When she looked out of the door again, she recognized the source of their trouble. The grazing lizards had been looked after by an interested relative. But this 'mother' was behind the short office block near the beach. A giant head appeared at the top of the building with a roar perceptible over the rotors. Then the head kept advancing, snaking up and over the building on a long, thick neck

"Was it you who just told me not to use the the word 'dinosaur'?" Teresa snapped.

"No. I said they would be no trouble," retorted Diana as she fell back against the side of the interior. A scaly, ugly snout bumped into the doorway with a heavy thud. The helicopter tilted sideways then began to fall to the ground.


	2. Chapter 2 - Fight To Survive

Chapter 2: Fight to Survive

Oona thought long and hard before eating a light lunch from a bagel shop. Depending on what disaster had befallen, she expected that taking even rotting food from a private shop would be considered looting. But as she had already been attacked by some kind of prehistoric lizard bird, a sandwich seller with a baseball bat might be considered normal, might even be welcome. She consumed the dry baked goods and a bottled water, leaving the notes and coins from her pockets as moral payment.

Once again she tried to switch on every means of communication that she could find in the shop, trying the television set behind the counter, a small radio set under the counter and a chunky old computer in the back office. Everything was dead.

There was a copy of the 'New York Post' crumpled in the desk along with a nearly full soft-pack of cigarettes. Oona thought twice then put the pack in her back pocket. "Who knows?" she thought. "This might be an excellent time to take up smoking again."

She spread out the paper, but the edition was at least two days old and referred only to a sensational trade of baseball players centred around the Yankees. There was no suggestion of an imminent or emerging disaster. She recalled the urgency of her friends' departure. Something had literally happened overnight. Perhaps in the blink of an eye?

Whatever had happened, she resolved to get herself discovered as quickly as possible and rescued from whatever mess she had found herself in.

"Where's the best place to go?" she thought. "Move down the boardwalk until the shops get busier. There's more chance of a tourist office, or a boat jetty, or a bus stop."

Having decided, she left the bagel shop and turned right, what she perceived from the Sun as being south, and plodded carefully down the wooden decking of the boardwalk. She tried to stay in the shadows where possible, not sure how much she would dehydrate in the sunlight, and keeping an eye at roof level in case any of those things returned.

After about twenty long minutes, she was reassured of her sense of direction as the shop fronts became closer and closer together and there was a general feel of approaching the main town. Although there was still evidence everywhere of a massive near-panicked departure, there was no repeat of the remains of the surfer. She thought briefly of what horrors might be waiting, but this seemed a less claustrophobic walk and she felt less scared. She felt less like she was being watched and realized how quiet and lonely everything was around her.

The giant shopping mall, like a beached ocean liner, was several storeys tall and glistened in the sunlight. Seagulls were circling the lower half of the mall where is was lashed by the sea. Thru the crash of the waves, Oona could hear a muffled banging noise. At first it seemed to be like wooden doors being slammed, but then it became clear, even to her from her quiet countryside background, that these were the single spaced-out cracks of a little rifle. Someone was shooting from the mall. There was no whizz of bullets or bursts of dirt around her, so she assumed, quite confidently, that, whoever it was, they were not shooting at her.

"At least someone else is alive," she thought. "But what's with all the shooting?"

It took another good ten minutes for her to reach the pier. The mall appeared silent, but there were a half-dozen golf-carts of random types arranged neatly outside the main entrance. There seemed to be no panic associated with their presence there. She squatted behind a child's police-car ride looking for activity, but there was none. She took a swig from the near-empty water bottle and ran over to the golf-carts, crouching unconvincingly as she tried to keep as low as possible.

"Let's take a look," she resolved, planning to run forward to the main glass doors to discover what was happening inside. But as she stepped out, the roar of a heavy car engine fired up nearby, and then more noise as other vehicles sprang into life. She ran back to her cover behind the golf-carts. The noise got louder, but there was no sign of the vehicles. Then she realized the engines were revving up underneath her; somewhere under the pier that the mall was built on. She squeezed herself down smaller and tried to stay still between the carts and the wall of the mall. First a big modern pickup truck mounted one of the many ramps that gave access from the beach to the boardwalk. Then, as if racing each other, two bulky quad bikes made the noisy ascent. Without further delay, all three vehicles roared past the front of the mall. They turned sharply off the boardwalk and headed onto the dusty tarmac of the town's main road system. After several more seconds the roar and whine of the combined engines trailed off south, somewhere into the distance.

"That looked nasty," thought Oona. She had glimpsed the riders briefly, their faces swathed in heavy scarves and wearing goggles, the very archetype of bandits. If they had been on horses she could have assumed, quite naturally, that they were hurrying off to rob a steam train. The pickup was equally menacing with around a dozen men sitting carelessly on the benches on the back. Although ominous in their own right, each carried a rifle or shotgun, held pointed upward as they drove off.

Now she realized that she was dealing with some serious people. If they had looked like regular police officers or recognizably American soldiers, she might have stepped out and waved, asked for help. But these people? They didn't look like the 'helping' kind.

Oona pushed open the glass doors and walked into the mall. She thought, at first, that it would probably be safe now that the men with the guns had gone. (At least she had assumed they were all men.) But as she crept carefully into the entrance corridor, it did seem possible that there might be a lot more of them to contend with.

"Hopefully," she whispered to herself. "They'll all be as noisy as that lot."

She made her way carefully around the lower level of shops taking in the range of shiny services and consumable goods available. The air conditioning was thankfully working and it was almost pleasant to walk around alone in this empty place.

"Why does this place have electricity, when the rest of the town has no power at all?" she asked herself.

"Why don't I show you?" whispered a voice behind her.

:::

"I think we crashed, " said Diana. She was lying awkwardly on the turf of the quadrangle. The grass was bleached, trampled and grazed-upon so the soil was loose and dusty and had left a big smear on her face. Her suit was equally blemished. She stood up and dusted herself down in a very cursory attempt to remain dignified.

Martinez was already standing up, alert, seemingly unaffected by the fall of her aircraft. She looked at the partial wreckage, ready to fix up any part of the chopper that might help get them off the ground again. But it was no good. The blades of the main rotor were broken, the tail was bent and the stink of kerosene warned her that the helicopter was gone as a method of escape.

""We have to leave this pile of scrap. Before we catch fire." She remained staring at the heap of near-junk that, until this morning, had been her main focus in life.

"I'm all for staying un-combusted," Diana agreed. She looked around earnestly for her briefcase.

Now more decisive, Martinez grabbed Goddard by the arm. "Leave your paperwork. You can get faxes at the copy-shop when we get back to civilization."

Diana turned, smiling. "I'm not an office girl and I don't 'do' paperwork," she warned. "Now..." She shook Martinez's hand from her arm. "You go ahead... I'll catch you up." Goddard winked and stepped back toward the crooked tail section. The black case was only a few feet from the metal.

Martinez sighed and looked up at the surrounding buildings. The small grazing lizards had scattered during the crash, but only out of instinct, not, apparently, out of fear. Dozens were still nibbling at the weeds and overgrowing vegetation. They were oblivious to the conflict they had been a minor part of. The bigger creature, its head battered more than it would have expected by the descending helicopter, had disappeared. But Martinez was no fool. Its attack had been defensive, to protect the smaller creatures. If it came back now, while they were out in the open, the two women were little more than buffet snacks. The more immediate problem, having survived the fall of the aircraft onto the ground, was that of being incinerated by the spilling flight-fuel or being pierced by a piece of spinning shrapnel.

"There's a guard-house over there." She shouted to Goddard, gesturing with her arm. "We need to take refuge in there." But Goddard was already sprinting past her, the rescued briefcase in her hand.

"I don't need to be told twice," said Diana, smiling. They both ran up the small whitewashed steps into the clean reception area. A sturdy desk and some heavy cabinets gave an air of calm authority.

"Do you think we'll be able to radio from here?" asked Diana.

"There's no power, Special Agent," said Teresa. "And - before you point it out - even a battery-powered set will have problems."

"How do you mean?" asked Diana. "Like a Brownout? We've got some kit that can overcome that." She went to open her oh-so-valuable briefcase.

"It's more like EMP. We first noticed it when we were flying around the mess. The radio comms dip when you reach the creeks along the edge of the islands. It extends even further out to sea. The Navy are working on it now."

"Electromagnetic Pulse? We didn't know that. There's no sign of nuclear release." Goddard took a small piece of bakelite encased equipment from the case. It was a light grey all over with a small rectangular dial at the top. A sharp red needle lay limp at the side of an unmarked scale. "No," she confirmed. "No radiation at all. Not even a little background."

Martinez looked at the needle wryly. "Really? Stick that in the sea out there and it'll pop with all the particles from the reactors upstate. Anyway, we are where we are and we have what we have." She started to rummage systematically thru the desk drawers. "What were those things out there? Do you know?"

Goddard thought carefully before answering. "They looked like little lizards to me. I guess they were - well - little lizards. Weird ones though." She thought carefully. Martinez had retrieved a cardboard box which contained shotgun cartridges. "What do you think that big thing was?" Diana asked quietly.

Martinez looked up from the desk. "There might be a shotgun around here. That will be useful. Unless they ran off with it." She paused to think. "The other fly-guys just saw shapes in the water. What's wrong with calling them 'monsters'?" she reached under the desk and tore away at the paper tape underneath. She slapped a short fat billy-club on the desk.

Goddard cocked her head to challenge this meagre answer. "I suppose if you're into old maps and witchcraft, then 'monsters' would do. But I get paid to look a little deeper than that." She sat on the desk and pondered the situation, frowning. She rubbed her ankles, bruised from the fall, pleased that she had worn non-regulation baseball boots that morning.

Martinez rocked the first of the filing cabinets and looked behind it. "I get paid to fly over that sort of thing. And occasionally, I shoot at them."

Goddard tilted her head again. "You know, this is a civilian Coast Guard station. Not a gangsters speakeasy. Any guns they have will be locked away and properly accounted for. You should look for an armory."

Martinez smiled as she looked behind the second cabinet. "Sure, those little officers you push around with your Federal badge and your big smile are all just boy scouts. But there's always one guy sitting in a back office somewhere, waiting for a civil disturbance or armageddon; making sure he doesn't get caught out." She emerged with a short shotgun wrapped in thick, clean fabric. "And the end-of-the-world is here." She looked very pleased with it. "Excellent. South African MAG. Great at close range."

"Your faith in human nature is touching," said Diana wrinkling her nose.

"Take the sap from the table. We need to look after ourselves as a team," said Teresa. It was hardly a suggestion, but Goddard thought carefully about it beforehand. She rocked the little club in the palm of her hand, her long fingers closing comfortably around it. She opened her briefcase and dropped it in carelessly.

"Maybe we'll need it to wedge open a door," she smiled.

:::

The motorized group made their way swiftly down New Jersey Avenue heading straight towards the Coast Guard Station. At the moment there were only two quad bikes to escort the Chevy pick-up, but the leader of the group was confident that they would have more vehicles available soon.

"We need more Silverados," said his wing-man, Lister, scratching his stubbly chin. "Those bikes are just toys for show-offs."

"Just be patient, Lister," said Graves hold the steering-wheel steady at the top. "We need a few mobile types for the early encounters. And those two 'show-offs' can deal with anything human much faster than you or I could. Guns or no guns."

Lister scowled. He disliked being compared to the other fighters, particularly when it was as second class. He preferred to be seen as the man who got to sit in the cab of the Chevy with the boss, while ten other guys had to sit in the back of the pick-up scowling at each other.

"There's nothing those guys can do with their mangy fingers that I can't deal with quicker using one my grenades," he grumbled. His hands stroked the sash of ordinance strapped around his shoulder and waist.

Graves laughed, thumping the dashboard. "Ha. A bit of professional jealousy. I like it. That's what keeps you 'grunts' keen," he mocked.

Lister scowled and half-laughed, half-sneered. "This hog does more than grunt."

"That's more like it," Graves laughed. He punched Lister's cheek with no attempt at subtlety or lame camaraderie.

The quad bikes slowed to a stop ahead. The riders lifted their goggles and turned their heads for instruction. Graves flattened the little paper map and confirmed that they had stopped just one block from the main entrance. A light gray curl of smoke over the rooftops of the seaside villas agreed with their intelligence report.

Graves opened the little square driver window of the Chevy. He gestured off to their left. "You guys sweep back from the beach. Stay on the bikes. Make some noise. We'll bust the gates in ten minutes, round up anyone who you flush out."

The quad riders nodded, reset their goggles and face scarves and roared off to the side street that led to the beach.

Graves turned back to Lister, more casual. "It looks like something fell into the coastguard station, so it's probably an aircraft."

"Yeah," agreed Lister, picking up the discussion. "Probably a chopper. Going down the way. Even a Cessna would have trashed the building if it had hit side on."

Graves nodded. He preferred Lister in his thinking mode. "So, if we're lucky our intruders are just the cold remains of a Texas barbecue about now. Any bits of body can be left to the creatures, but any effects, papers, bags, tags. We need to pick that up and bring it back for inspection. We need to get up to speed with what the government is sending in here after us."

Lister smiled cruelly. "Feds," he sneered. "Bring 'em all. Our best shot is better than theirs."

Graves shooked his head. "Enough of that, Lister. Get back to the operation at hand. If that was anything like a Blackhawk, then we could have dozens of Marines already deployed on the ground."

Lister nodded. That would be his favorite end to the day; a firefight with the agents of the state.

"We could take up to twenty," he thought aloud. "Probably thirty if we get the drop on them."

Graves nodded, then slapped the dashboard. "Plan. You recce the station. I'll deploy the desperadoes out back. Bring back the intel on their numbers before the quads start their sweep. Only engage the intruders if necessary."

"On it." Lister smoothly left the vehicle, pulled his rifle from behind the seat, and slammed the door closed. He started a firm, low run to the corner of the street and looked briefly around the corner. The entrance to the coast-guard station was at the end of the next street. No-one was there. As expected. He looked back to the pick-up.

Graves was already out of the cab, organizing the men off the back. "El techo! Elevado!" He pointed the two figures carrying the longest rifles toward the highest motel block. Graves looked over his shoulder and saw Lister with his thumb pointed up in the air. He acknowledged it briefly with a curt raise of the flat palm his own hand. Lister disappeared around the corner.

After a twenty-second dash, Lister reached the gate-house and inspected the barrier gate. Normally open during the day and only blocked by a low wooden barrier arm, it had been heavily chained together as part of the hasty evacuation. The padlock was on the inside, but Lister knew it would take very little to crack it open. He stepped over to the plastic glass booth which was the easiest way for a person to enter, forced the flimsy lock of the single door and walked thru into the entrance yard.

This yard was an inspection area for deliveries and there was a similar wooden barrier at the other end leading thru to the main quadrangle. Lister could already tell from the light smoke and smell that that was where the crash had taken place. He turned to the padlock on the giant gate and wrapped a small sliver of plastic explosive around the thinnest part of the bolt. Then, casually, he jabbed in a short wire fuse. "That'll take thirty seconds," he thought. "When we need it."

Leaving the gate and the padlock he then jogged quietly over to the entrance to the quadrangle taking in the whole vista as quickly as possible. A small helicopter was lying in burning pieces on the scorched grass of the quad. Little lizards were casually grazing everywhere.

"Okay," he thought. "That's six at the most. If they survived. Let's see who's here."

On the far side was the low wall leading to the beach. Any second now, the bikes would emerge. To the right were a series of low barrack buildings, to the left a small guard-house and some small storage huts.

He checked his knife in his shoe and the ammunition in his rifle.

"Time to stand up and be counted."


	3. Chapter 3 - Time Goes By

Chapter 3: Time Goes By

Oona thought that the young man might be about the same age as her, he might even be younger, but he seemed to think he was in charge of things. He was wearing a thin gray jogging suit, as if every day involved a moderate climate and a minimum of exercise. There was no branding or any kind of commercial mark, but it was definitely machine-made.

"Who were those men outside?" she had asked in surprise.

He nodded reassuringly as if that was to be expected. "Of course, yes. They are hired men. A necessary protection to ensure security. But you will be fine in here. They've been asked to stay down below for now."

"Come. Have a seat." He gestured back to the food court and its contoured plastic seating. "Rest your feet. I imagine you must have had a difficult journey."

She slowly followed him, advancing up the shallow ramp to a circular area with a mixture of children's toys and comfortable booths. The sunlight was shining helpfully thru orange filtered skylights.

"Journey? I've not just arrived by bus. I had a pretty horrible time before I got in here, in fact. More of an ordeal than a pleasant trip." It was a relief to talk to another person after her disturbing day.

He waved to a seat in a booth, pausing to allow her to accept the offer, then sat as she sat. "I'm sorry that was your experience. It's a regrettable side-effect of the present situation. Hopefully that will resolve itself eventually."

She leaned forward on the table and warned him. "I think there are wild animals loose out there. Lizards, like dinosaurs, but real, I mean. Is that why everyone ran away?"

He leaned back, thinking. He thought about her questions very visibly, his eyebrows rising and falling in an imagined conversation, then, very pleased with himself, leaned forward into her space, too close to her face to be casual.

"Tell me Oona, what did you want to do with your life?" She leaned back, noting his use of the past tense.

"Hopefully," she replied, "I can still be a nurse when I get back to Ireland."

"Ah. Yes. Have you had a lot of medical training? That's useful all over the world." He tilted his head by a fraction, waiting for the detail of her answer.

"A couple of years," she replied vaguely. No-one had ever queried her credentials as a nurse before. When it arose in conversations, the assumption was always that if you wanted to be a nurse then that was probably qualification enough.

"Yes. I can see you're a caring woman. That helps, of course. But taking blood and measuring blood pressure? That must need a little focus?"

"Oh, you know. You pick up that sort of thing as you go along. Observation is more important." She felt like he was conducting a job interview.

"Ah. Yes. Very good. I'm sure, as you would say, anyone could put a thermometer in a patient's mouth. I could probably do that myself, I agree. But gauging the mood of the subject; the person? That must be an instinct that is difficult to learn."

Oona would normally be flattered by a little bit of kudos for her caring nature. After all, she just wanted a job that was near her brother in Dublin. But this questioning tended too near veneration to be light conversation.

"You must need refreshment." He seemed more enthusiastic now. "I came down to make coffee. They have a large machine that produces it at the back of the cafeteria. I prefer tea; even badly made tea. Do you prefer tea?"

"Yes," she nodded, slightly less afraid. "Strong enough to stand a spoon in," she joked.

He seemed taken aback. "I suppose that is possible. I could try to adjust the viscosity with sugar and cream. But I fear the flavor would be difficult to guarantee."

Oona wondered briefly if he could be some crude android from a cheap science fiction story. He talked so strangely, but it was only poor social skills which was not unsettling in itself.

"Try anything you want. All the food here is available to you. I will try to provide anything you ask for." He paused to let her reply.

"What about some sliced roast beef and a big tower of mashed potato? My tastes are very straightforward."

He sighed, defeated at the first challenge. "Oh, I don't know about that. What about a Salad Niçoise, or maybe a Waldorf?" He indicated an array of pre-prepared plates each covered with wrinkled plastic film. "I had thought I might impress you with this stunning array of eclectic fare." He loosely waved his palm like they were prizes in a low-rent game-show. Oona thought he was not trying at all to fool her.

"What about the dinosaurs?" she asked directly, fixing her glare. No time would have been polite.

"That's not really my area of expertise," he replied. "The people upstairs might be able to explain things to you. We'll meet them later. You'll like them. I know they'll like you."

"Who's upstairs?" she asked. "The shopping mall management?"

"Ha. Yes, managers of a kind. But, no, not really in commerce." He nodded sadly. "In fact, I think money makes them unhappy."

Another thought occurred to him. "I'm so sorry. I forgot. I was so excited to see you down here that I forgot to carry out my primary task."

Oona was a little taken aback. "Wh-what was your primary task?" she quizzed.

"I had to bring coffee to the people upstairs; the managers." He pondered. "I suppose that will involve a tray, a coffee pot, and several cups. But I routinely deal with quantum mechanics. This should be within the realm of plausibility for me."

If he had winked, she might have responded quicker to his levity, but his cautious stare only alarmed her.

"Of course," she replied neutrally. "I'm sure that will be fine."

He stared back, briefly, then smiled flatly.

"I'll only be upstairs for a few minutes. In the management suite. Feel free to look around down here. You're not a prisoner, but there's really not anywhere else safe to go, so it might be best to stay inside. And I haven't briefed the outside security teams yet about your status so it might be best to stay up on this floor."

"Status?"

"Safe. Of course."

He might have tried harder to reassure her more, but he seemed indifferent to his believability. He walked off with a cursory wave and left her to contemplate the firm nature of her pulse and breathing.

"Scared," she thought. "I'm medically scared."

**:::**

Lister watched carefully as the pair of quad bikes emerged from the beach onto the grass. With their exposed, souped-up engines, and the general carelessness of the riders, there was no way that they were ever going to catch anyone by surprise. But that suited Lister just fine. He needed to see who had survived the chopper crash. The bikes roaring by might expose the number and position of potential hostiles. Graves and his men would have to wait, despite their obvious desire to fire at anything in sight.

Diana peered from the dusty pane of the guard-house window. The glass was dirty and best only for letting in light, but she could see the bikes and riders roaring past. Something about the noise and the determination of their search alarmed her.

"Should we identify ourselves?" she speculated quietly. Martinez looked up from the table where she was stacking ammunition clips.

"Everyone was ordered to leave," Martinez replied. "They're most probably looters. What exactly are you going to say to them?" she challenged.

"Well," Diana suggested vaguely, "I'm a Federal agent and you're a military officer. Technically, we're in charge."

"Good luck with that, Special Agent Goddard. The kind of person who stays in this kind of disaster area is probably too stupid or too highly armed to listen to the likes of us."

"Could you interrogate one of them if we caught them?" Diana asked thoughtfully.

Martinez looked carefully at her

"You're a surprise, aren't you?"

Diana shook her head. "I don't mean you have to torture them. I just think there's a kind of shouting that gets more answers."

"Well, thank you. Am I not as much of a lady as you?"

"That's not what I meant," she countered. "I thought you would be trained in resisting questioning."

"And I would have thought that investigation usually involved some skill at questioning."

"Don't worry. I usually find out what I need to know."

From his vantage point, Lister could see the two bikes parked up, out of sight of the guard house, engines idling ambiguously. There had been no shouting, crazed shooting or other activity. Lister nodded vigorously to encourage further investigation. The passenger on the second bike sprinted to the side of the guard house, glancing briefly in each of the small barred windows. He paused at the last window, head darting around, taking in what was inside. Then he sprinted back to the bike.

Lister watched the hand signals carefully. The thumb pointed up indicating a positive sighting, the two fingers indicating the number of hostiles, and the childish mime of a pistol firing indicated they were armed. Lister nodded curtly then held up his hand to keep the riders' attention. He pointed firmly twice to order the two passengers in to the building. He tried to indicate by gripping his wrist that they were to apprehend the hostiles if possible. The riders usually liked to tend to at least one prisoner after a good fire-fight. They were predictable men.

"I don't think they went far. Let's move some furniture to the doorway to create a barrier," suggested Martinez. "I think this could be more trouble. Amongst all our other immediate problems."

Before Diana could respond, the small window pane where her face had been only a few minutes before shattered inwards. The flash of a small hammer head disappeared back outside and was replaced by a hand dropping a cloth-wrapped cannister into the room.

"A grenade," hissed Diana.

"No, wait," growled Martinez holding Diana still. "It's just a thunder-flash. Don't move."

Diana dropped to her knees with her head beneath the level of the table. The cannister detonated, the room shaking, then the clap of noise bursting their ears. Diana's body shook with fright. Martinez pushed her head back down behind the table.

"Stay here. The big bangs aren't finished," she warned. The room had filled with an uneven mist of powder and dust and it was difficult to see around them..

A scrabbling noise from the broken window pane was followed by a heavy voice shouting into the room. "Stay down. We are coming in for you. No-one will be harmed if you put aside any weapons you have."

"Like hell," whispered Martinez. The inside of her head was still squealing. She checked the weight of the revolver in her hand and tried to make out the frame of the doorway. The slight noise from heavy boots scuffing the steps at the entrance was approaching.

"We are armed military personnel," she shouted. "Stay back if you are civilians. Go back to your homes." It was a bluff worth taking, if only to hide their numbers.

The steps halted briefly. She could hear the brief whisper of "Niñas" between the men.

"Don't they think I speak Spanish?" she thought. "These girls bite back."

"How many of them are there?" Diana hissed.

"There are two or three in here. But there must be others outside." Martinez turned Goddard's face to look at her. "Are you ready to fight? I think we're just going to end up shooting at each other."

"My god," thought Diana. "Lunatic men with guns. That's a whole career ahead of me."

Martinez nodded encouragingly. "No fire escape. Get shooting." She raised her pistol and fired once into the thickening smoke. The plaster of an unseen wall thudded with the impact.

Diana was reluctant to pick up anything dangerous from the arms available.

"First of all. We need good cover. Then I'll be happy about you shooting randomly."

Before she could move from the desk, a pair of flashes erupted from the doorway, as two-second bursts of machine fire whizzed past them.

"Nowhere to run, pretty ladies!" shouted one of the intruders. The footsteps spread out in the gloom.

Martinez focussed on the voice and loosed off another solid shot into the mist. A ripple of popping plastic confirmed that she had at least hit body armor. She pushed Diana to the floor.

"Who's running?" she shouted back. Another single burst of machine fire ripped up the center of the room and tore open the desk. Martinez shielded her eyes quickly from the splinters. She lifted the pistol again and stepped forward into the receding smoke, loosing off at her best guess of where the most dangerous shooter was. She took another step forward and collided with the advancing shape. As the machine gun fired again, she grabbed at the covered head and hooked her knee into the elbows of the attacker.

They both fell to the ground.

**:::**

At the Union Station, Senator Winters was waiting for some important people. However, he was hoping that no-one would call it a 'meeting'. It was very important that he not be having any kind of meeting at this moment. He was officially on a lunch break with a few of his staff, but he had suggested to them that they walk round the block, which gave him fifteen minutes.

In the arches at the main entrance, he checked his filofax. Despite his worry about being recognized, he used the time to note the dates of some upcoming oversight committees.

"I hope you didn't pencil in our little rendezvous," warned a heavy, jovial voice behind him.

Winters did not turn round, and kept staring at the diary pages. He knew full well that it suited both of them not to make eye contact. Winters had previously encountered this unseen speaker, on the telephone, in museums, in transit centers. He had quickly discounted the New England accent as fake, but well-practised. The hoarse and masculine edge was undoubtedly honed by bourbon and cigars. But the cheerful and sing-song tone was intriguing, part sports-caster, part circus ringmaster. Winters was sure that when the day came to have this particular contact dragged away to jail, he would still be singing, still smiling. But until then, the ridiculous charade had to be indulged and certain protocols had to be observed.

"Just be quick. Is everything going to plan?" Winters asked calmly. The suited men and women bustling by would hardly have noticed his lips moving. There was the usual considered pause from the unseen speaker. This irritated Winters immensely.

"All is good," came the cheerful confirmation. There was another pause. "You can say all the things you told us you needed to say in Congress. We have no disagreement."

Winters was about to respond "I'll say what I want..." but was cut off.

"Make sure you have nothing valuable left in the zone."

"I don't keep valuables in seashore resorts. What do you mean? Have I buried Grandma's jewellery on the beach?"

"Value is wherever you place it," the smug voice replied. "Real estate. Money. Weaponry. They should all be discarded."

"Cut the crap. I don't own anything in South Jersey. Nothing I'm the slightest bit worried about losing."

"We value people." Smug pause. "Perhaps you do too. If you have any people you value that live near the zone, you should warn them."

Winters half turned to look at the shadows. The circus voice was often inscrutable, but his cryptic comments were starting to become insulting.

"I'm already co-ordinating the standing review. This is D.C. after all. After only two days of this crisis, we have a committee set up to analyze the eventual outcomes of this situation. A committee with its own budget and clerical staff. And a situation that's barely clear to us at the moment."

"Just steer the review as you see fit," the circus voice replied. "Keep the military out of our business and we'll keep out of your business."

"I can only do so much. We've set the rules of engagement. Someone even volunteered that we designate an area of Scientific Interest. That'll keep all official activity out of the zone for as long as we need. But I don't have any hold over special forces with secret orders, or freelance Federal operatives snooping around."

"That has been taken into account," said the voice.

"I'm not sure how much longer we can keep the facts of this under wraps," said Winters.

"The need for full concealment will run out eventually. Such is the nature of what we have to do," came the quiet reply. "But, for now, I'm sure you will be able to deal with any fraying around the edges," whispered the circus voice.

"I deal with the politics. Just the politics. You deal with the monsters," snapped Winters.

"Neither of us is dealing with an exact science." The friendly words ended in a chuckle. "And so, your first problem in this respect seems to have arrived. I believe it has already turned up on your own doorstep. Have fun."

"What do you mean?" Winters made to turn then kept facing forward. He was not sure if the speaker had gone or not. He was minded to glance round, even to get a glimpse of the mystery person's height or his walk. But there was a commotion building in the street leading down to the park at this end of the National Mall. It caught his attention and he turned that way instead.

"Senator!" His press secretary, Millo, was approaching from round the corner of the station. His hands were filled with paper cup coffees and a briefcase bulging with papers. But for this, he looked like he might have waved.

Winters stood up straight and composed himself. "What's the commotion, Millo?" he shouted.

"There's an incident down at the Capitol Building, sir. We need to go. I've left the others at the Hilton."

"What sort of incident? We need to get back there, not run away. There's work to be done." Winters wondered about the timing. To add to his own urgency, a pair of white police cars with their slight red and blue stripes sped by, lights flashing, sirens quiet.

"It came thru on the television news," said Millo frowning. "It might be a shooter. The snipers are going up on the roofs."

Winters thought briefly. "You can go back to the Hilton. I need to show my face. There are ways in to the Capitol underground."

"I know sir. I go in the North Walk every morning. With the cleaners." Millo raised his eyebrows.

Winters ignored this protest in miniature. "Either come with me, or don't. Lunch is over." He started walking to the crossing to Columbus Circle. He vaguely knew that he was heading toward the side streets that would point to the secure entrance.

"Sir, it's over this way." Millo walked past him on the cross-walk pointing in a totally different direction.

Winters turned to follow. He was tired of the particular entourage that he had to endure around his offices. Everyone was egalitarian and diplomatic. It was a sign of the times that no-one who deserved a reprimand or even a quiet word received either piece of advice. Everything was in writing, and appealed, and handled sensitively. Millo was not the worst member of staff. He was efficient and punctual, and he worked hard. But he complained about his pay-scale and his workload as if the two were connected.

"Very soon," he thought. "Being in charge won't require forms or paperwork or disciplinary procedures. Then we'll talk about pay grades."


	4. Chapter 4 - Public Knowledge

Chapter 4: Public Knowledge

Oona watched the Sun hovering over the water, creeping up to its zenith. Sea-birds swooped around the exterior of the mall, riding the warm air currents and disappearing under the supporting pier. Further out to sea the curve of a small whale or shark broke the surface and disappeared again.

On the tabletop behind her a large flagon of coffee stood steaming. It smelt wonderful, but she had only taken a few sips.

"I should have asked him more, she thought. "After all, what is he doing in a shopping mall in the middle of a disaster zone?"

Equally, it was a very beautiful view and she almost felt relaxed, like society was far away. She touched the little necklace round her throat and said a little prayer. "Travelers near and far," she whispered.

"Are you admiring our view?" asked the man from behind her. She turned to look at him, smiling.

"Yes. It's lovely. But it's my view too, I'm sure," she laughed.

He stepped forward to look out at the ocean. He probed the waves carefully like an inspector assessing performance. "Mostly, still the same. But even what little we have done so far has brought some small calm. I can see it." He turned to her. "You can see it too."

Oona raised her eyebrows. "Well, tinted glass can do all sorts, I'm sure. But the view is the view."

He shook his head slowly. "Not today, Oona. From now on, the view will be what we choose it to be. Whatever you want."

Oona felt a jolt that she had so easily slipped into whatever plans this strange young man had in mind.

She looked at her feet. "Is there any way of getting me out of here, please? Um..." She realized she had not asked his name. She had been about to ask him his name. But, from inside, she knew she did not want to know. "Please. I'd like to make a short call."

"I'm sorry, Oona. The pulse caused too much disruption to radio and other communications, hence my walking to and fro. And it is too dangerous to leave the building for now. But it will become better, much better, very soon." He pointed out to sea. "Look!"

She turned back to the ocean and the swirling birds. The bulky shape in the water had been joined by others. The bodies started to roll and froth in the water churning up more waves around them. The gulls swooped and pecked at the sea, hoping to catch small fish in the agitation. But the seaborne creatures were not whales. Tiny lizard heads on flexible necks snaked out of the water and greedily speared the swirling flocks.

She snorted. She felt revolted and fascinated. "Is there somewhere I can go, please? It doesn't have to be anything fancy like a hotel room, but I'd like to shower and rest on my own."

He stared at her eyes. "Of course. That is still possible. I should have thought of that. You can have a room soon. I want to show you what's happening here first. I have good news."

"Oh?" she asked. She rubbed her forehead and walked back to the coffee on the table. She tried to drink another mouthful, but the taste was too strong.

"The Director will see you now," he said, smiling. "I have arranged a special audience."

**:::**

"Martinez?" Diana woke up knowing she was trapped. Her face and head were throbbing. She was unsure that her skull was even intact.

As a Special Agent, she had met some real 'bad guys', mobsters and murderers who would grace any philosophical description of Hell. But she barely remembered any of their names. Their faces were consigned to a big metaphorical filing drawer marked 'Dirt'. Diana Goddard always had bigger plans and minor players were not going to bother her.

Today, she was making a very special exception. "Who hit me in the face?" she asked.

Lister leaned forward to look her in the eyes. He lowered the scarf covering the lower part of his face. "I don't know, pretty lady. When you set off the flashes and start firing... Sometimes it gets real confusing." She was still in the little office building, loosely seated in a chair. The air was clear but still heavy with the smell of synthetic powder.

She wriggled within the bungee cords, assessing that they would barely hold a packet on the back of a motor-cycle. They would never hold a person who was determined.

"I'm going to need names," she hissed. She forced herself not to reveal that she was an FBI agent. In the current situation, that might end badly.

Without thinking, she wriggled again. It was now obvious to Lister that she was held very poorly by the luggage cables. "Why don't I help you out there?" he suggested. He turned back to one of the tables behind him. A small pack of plastic tie strips was lying open.

"Graves told me to be quick with you," he explained. "But I reckon your girlfriend will keep them busy for a couple of hours at least."

Diana shook her head. "Is that why you set all this up? Just to kidnap a few passing tourists?"

Lister passed one of the ties around her wrists and jerked it tight against her skin. "I don't worry about the details, little lady. Why don't you do the same?"

Diana had twisted her wrists a little to prevent the plastic tie completely locking her hands together, but she knew that if her feet were tied, her ability to maneuver would be next to zero.

"I need some water," she asked. Lister stood up from her and sneered.

"This isn't a health spa. And I'm not here to take care of you." He walked over to his own pack and pulled an aluminum bottle from inside. He sipped carefully from the bottle. "Got to keep up the salt levels in this hot weather."

Diana flashed a plain smile. "I'm more worried about those things from the sea. They look very dangerous. Very odd. Very dangerous."

Lister returned his bottle to his pack. "I'm sure you know more than that. I know nothing. But those things? Something's not right there." He pulled a matchstick from his pack and struck it on his belt. Then, with the match burning in one hand, he retrieved a hand-rolled cigarette from his pants and lit it.

"Why don't you tell me what you're doing here?" he asked between puffs.

Diana decided to reveal only useless information while she looked for an escape. "That lady pilot was taking me over the restricted area when something struck us. I'm a... journalist. With the 'Post'. I wanted to get a scoop."

Lister laughed and took another puff of the cigarette. "You're very lucky I like women who lie to me."

**:::**

One of the official press corps ran up to Winters as he emerged into the entrance hall of the Capitol.

"Senator Winters!" he shouted. "I'm surprised they let you in here. Didn't they tell you? Some kind of tropical bird is loose in the dome. Secret Service think it might interfere with today's business. Given the trouble up in Jersey, if you ask me, it might be all about today's business."

Winters politely held up his hand. "I respect the Secret Service have a job to do, Albie. But I have my job to do too. We've got the budget residuals and the Tiger Economy Bill to get thru. I'm going to be very quiet and lock myself away in my office." He winked and continued over to the elevators leading to the office block.

"Try to stay away from the windows when you get upstairs, sir," said the attendant.

"What do you think of the President's response to the Jersey Crisis, Senator Winters?" Winters realized that Albie was standing behind him again and recording his replies.

"I have no comment, Albie," he replied with practised measure. "I'm waiting for the elevator, and - who knows? - if it arrives, the day may get better for me and possibly even for the President."

"Don't you find it a little bit surprising that so much military activity is going on in a U.S. state - not one hour's drive from here - and the only words we have from the White House are 'precautionary measures'?"

The doors of the elevator opened quietly and efficiently. As Winters opened his mouth to speak a fluttering object bounced out of the elevators towards them.

"Stand back!" shouted the attendant. He reached into his waistband to pull out a stun gun.

Winters stepped back calmly. "This seems like a lot of fuss," he started. Albie had ducked to the floor watching intently. A tiny bird with straw-colored feathers flitted randomly up to the roof then down again to the floor.

The attendant and two more agents grabbed at the tiny creature as it skimmed along at carpet level.

"It's just a bird, for God's sake," said Winters. He stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for his floor.

"Sorry, sir. Nothing to worry about." As the doors closed, the little bird flitted over to the entrance hall. Albie pointed after it.

"There it is. It's a humming-bird, isn't it?" He grabbed a hat from a stand near the entrance and took a pace toward the creature. As he lobbed the hat onto the tiny shape he noticed the striped multicolored patterning. Useful camouflage in a forest, but not so much in the center of the city.

The two suited agents careful guided Albie away from the floor, the hat and its prisoner. "Be careful," said the attendant as he pressed his foot down on the hat.

"Keep it alive," shouted Albie as he shrugged off the grip of the overly protective hands.

"Leave it to us, sir," said one of the agents. "I think you should probably leave now. For your own safety." They steered him back to the security gates and the Press Exit.

Albie reached into his coat pocket to find a small camera which he kept for emergency snapping. He looked down briefly, then snapped back up again as he heard a scream from the attendant. "Aaghhh!"

**::::**

Winters went to the window of his office and looked out down the National Mall. He could normally see the tall needle of the Washington Monument, but the pigeons swirling around the Capitol were too numerous. His window ledge had small needle spikes arranged to prevent perching, but there were, as usual, still dozens of birds hopping on and off the ledge. He pulled the cable that closed the horizontal blinds completely and let the electric light flicker on.

He sat at his desk and pressed the 'zero' key on the conference phone. "Is anyone in today?" he asked. "Yes, Senator. This is Cynthia. I'm fielding all the calls on this floor today. There are only a few people in, due to the alert. Can I place a call for you?"

"Let me know if any of the Ready Reckoning Committee come in. Anyone at all. Even if it's that suck-up Spiller. I need some notes retrieved and some other things taken down."

"I'll look for him, sir. He usually gets in whatever happens. Did you notice if the Metro was still running?"

"That's really something I expect you to know Cynthia. I walk to lunch and I get a car home. Mass transit is not something I have time for."

"Yes. I'm sorry, Senator. It was really only conversation. I'll check the computers."

"Thank you. I'm sorry. I was rude. Could I also ask someone to bring in some coffee? I don't mean you. You've got a lot to do. But if you see any of the interns walking around, get them up here with caffeine."

"Certainly, sir. I can't send them out now, of course. The alert, you know? But there are reasonable catering facilities in-house. I'm sure we can do something for you."

Winters sat back in his chair. He was not sure if the alert around Washington was a key part of the plan by his secretive acquaintance. Maybe it was just collateral damage. But he had to be careful. Mainly, he had to be careful not to get himself injured in some incident of civil disorder. But most importantly, he had to be careful not to say anything that would count against him after the crisis was over.

The pigeons perched on the ledge were making more and more noise. It was very distracting. He stood up and raised the blind. The window pane was now filled with grey and white birds piling onto the spikes of the ledge, but something was scaring them. His view was obscured and it was difficult to see out. Winters leaned toward the glass pane and wiped aside some of the interior condensation. As his fingers touched the glass, there was a thud against the window. He recoiled in surprise. The birds were in even more of a confusion, some flying away in a wild arc, others striking the glass. Others were slipping on the spikes and little grazes of blood and feathers started to cloud the glass.

Winters stepped back ready to let the blind fall again. Then he saw a face among the birds. It was not quite a bird, but it had a long head ending in a sharp beak. The inner ridges of the beak were lined with tiny sharp teeth. Wide wings lazily herded the confused city birds around the head. Dead crocodile eyes rolled up and down while the tiny teeth chewed on more and more avian flesh.

**:::**

Martinez was not enjoying the amount of fresh air she was being exposed to. She had been bound around the feet and shoulders and secured upright in the back of one of the quad bikes. Neither of the riders wore a helmet and neither did she.

The other bike was powering ahead up the shore-side avenue ignoring all the dead signals at the intersections. They were following at a more leisurely pace. The driver was smoking a fat cigar letting the ash fly back onto the bike and into their passenger's face. The second rider was carelessly leaning out as they meandered either side of the white line down the road. One big gloved fist held Martinez around the shoulder, partly holding her steady, partly allowing him to balance. The other hand waved a sawed-down shotgun into the air, loosing off blasts at intervals accompanied by cheerful shouts of "Ya-hah!".

Martinez was ready to cause some damage to her captors, but she needed to be sure that she would not fall face down on the tarmac at seventy miles-per-hour. She let her body sway with the ride of the quad-bike and the varying grip of the second rider.

"What's that?" shouted the driver. He was pointing ahead to a swathe of the beach where a shadow of small creatures was building up. It was difficult to tell from a distance if they were a horde of feral rats or lizards from the sea. As the second rider turned to find a clear view, Martinez instinctively twisted and let him pivot forward. The speed of the bike seemed to hold him on briefly, but Martinez completed the evacuation with a firm two-handed push. The flailing form thumped against the road surface and rolled.

"What are you doing?" shouted the driver. "You're dead meat!"

Martinez gripped the back of the seat and punched the back of his head. "It happens to us all," she shouted. The driver kept grip of the steering, swearing indistinctly. Martinez grabbed the head with one hand and one side of the steering with the other. The bike bumped onto the sidewalk then back onto the road without disruption. As the still speeding vehicle veered over the kerb again, one of the large back wheels struck a mailbox and raised them off the ground.

Martinez, the driver and the quad-bike flipped up and smashed back onto the ground. Martinez lay still for a seconds catching her breath, then she looked up. The driver lay twisted under the handlebars of the bike, thrashing around. Streaks of blood ran down his hands. But around them the swarm of little creatures had thickened, undeterred by the noise and violence of their crash. Repelled by their squealing and snapping, martinez jumped up. The leg of her pants was torn and her exposed upper arm was scraped. Everything was painful.

As the snapping, scuttling lizards closed in on her and the convulsing rider, she decided to run.

**:::**

The stairs up to the management suite were dusty and grubby.

"I don't normally use this staircase, Oona. I could have it swept, but in a few days, it will be immaterial."

"Are you moving out?" she asked.

"Everything will become clear," he replied pushing open one side of a pair of fire doors. Oona realized her companion was trying to be polite with the door.

"Thank you," she said, walking in.

The suite was circular and gloomy. Small desks with boxy computer screens had been pushed out to the walls leaving a central meeting area. Four figures in dark clothing, one woman and three men, were talking quietly in the vague pool of natural light allowed thru the ceiling vents.

"We should wait here." They stood beside one of the displaced desks. Oona could see that the everyday debris of notes and family photographs had been collected into a pile on the old-fashioned blotting pad. Several of the other desks were similarly attended to.

"I've been trying to curate the belongings of the people who used to work here."

"Why on Earth did you do that?" Oona quizzed. "I can't work out what's so important about what you're doing here if you've got time to organize holiday postcards and bric-a-brac."

"Adam?" The single figure left in the middle of the room called over to them. "We're done for now. What have you got for me?" The voice was friendly and business-like.

Oona was directed to walk forward. "Boss, this is the young woman I was telling you about." Oona stayed where she was, holding on to one of the curated desks. "No need to be afraid."

"I've seen a lot of scary things today, 'Adam'. Why wouldn't I be afraid?" she replied. She stepped forward and offered a hand to shake. "I'm Oona."

The man nodded politely but did not take her hand. "Today you are 'Oona'. Tomorrow you can be someone else. Has Adam taken care of you? We have limited resources at the moment, but that will change very soon."

"I don't really want to burden you here with whatever you're doing. Are you the Director? If I could be taken to some embassy or consulate or police station, I'll get out of your way."

Adam joined the conversation. "I've told Oona that we're a little restricted at the moment. We could benefit ultimately from her expertise."

Adam's boss shook his head, the polite face turning apologetic. "Adam, you must be more direct. Everything has changed now." He turned to Oona. "Do you want to stay inside or return to the outside?"

"I don't want to be eaten, or die of heat exhaustion, or meet those bikers face-to-face. But that's not much of a choice."

Adam appeared to steel himself. His boss was watching carefully. "If you want to stay in here with us, you'll need to work with us. Don't promise or swear, or make a pixie sign with your fingers. Just tell us that you're on our side. Otherwise..." He looked childishly aside to his boss. "...You'll have to leave now. No-one will harm you. But you'll have to find your own way to whatever safety you can find."

Oona looked up at the faint sunlight from the roof above. As is to emphasize Adam's point, a dark shadow drifted heavily overhead.


	5. Chapter 5 - Low And Behold

Chapter 5: Low And Behold

Oona sat at the side of the command room and cupped a lukewarm coffee in her shaking hands. Adam stood facing the window with his arms crossed behind his back trying to look important.

"We'll look after you, Oona. This is a good decision. I'll personally look out for you, talk you thru any of the difficult areas."

She sighed and tried to think of anything but working with these strange people.

"Could I have some time to myself?" she asked.

He thought carefully then nodded vigorously. "Take what you need now. Once things start getting - um - busy around here, you may be needed at a moment's notice."

"For medical assistance? Yes, I understand. How many people will I be treating? What sort of injuries do you anticipate?"

Adam watched the Sun as it started to dip in the sky, an unremarkable, beautiful evening ahead.

"Good questions as ever, Oona. I'm glad we met. I'm glad that our bad luck was followed by the good luck of you crossing our path." He took a breath. "The injuries may be varied and severe. Energy burns, concussion and blast damage, blunt trauma and small arms wounds. Is that everything? I learnt a little list, but I can't remember it all. That can't be all of it." He thought carefully like a little boy with hard math. "Battle injuries in short." He tapped his forehead again. "And animal bites. Large animal bites."

"You're expecting trouble? I know those lizard things are everywhere, but you seem to have good protection in here."

"There will be more lizards when we are finished. Then even our rudimentary walls and sonic defenses will be to no avail."

"When we're finished? What do you expect to happen? You aren't farming these things are you?"

"No, Oona. Nothing so prosaic or ordinary. We're letting the dinosaurs thru. It's all very clever with gravity and iterative calculations. But our control is getting less and less. Entropy you know? Once you start messing about with things, it all starts to unravel."

"Dinosaurs? I know they look like those things from schoolbooks. But dinosaurs can't live here now. Not in New Jersey, with the air and everything?"

Adam became a bit more focussed. "For now they live. The air is the air, and the climate is not so bad at this latitude. But the food is the real issue. When they start to panic they'll eat everything, the fish in the sea, the trees by the shore, the swimmers, the subs, battleships. They'll start to eat everything."

Oona felt a chill of fear in her chest. "Isn't this location a bit foolish then? I've already seen some very creepy looking things battering against the plastic." Her eyes flitted to the stylized mesh that separated her from the outside window.

"It's a matter of getting the timing and the location right. I pointed out the risk of being so close to the ocean. Believe me, I did. But the opportunity to set up in such a compact location and the ease of cutting us off outweighed the dangers."

A thought was building in Oona, but she did not want to voice it yet. Adam seemed to know too much of what had happened, even as if it was part of a plan. Was it part of his plan?

**:::**

Martinez was not yet prepared to take on an army, but that was an unlikely scenario. She squatted behind the counter of a takeout pizza store and tried to eat while remaining unseen. Airtight containers strewn around the back storage room had provided warm but filling sliced meats and a shut-down cold cabinet contained big bottles of Pepsi to . She really needed to find a hunting shop to provide her with a gun, although that was unlikely in this kind of seashore town. Her best chance might be a fishing store with bait knives or at the very least a sportswear store with a shelf still full of nutrition products.

For now, she had to look out at the vacant lots, the 'deco' styled motels and the modern timber condos. A late afternoon shower of rain did not deter the swirls of bat-like lizards from massing above the rooftops, dipping and swooping in great clouds then diffusing away up out of sight. She could only guess what they were feeding on, but it might be the packs of dogs barking in the distance, or maybe even the existing wildlife, birds and all.

There was a street-scale delivery map on the back wall which helped her determine where she was and where she could go. On the side of the island opposite the ocean was a lagoon which could be crossed by bridge at the northern and southern ends and in the center. She was only a few blocks and a short hike from the central crossing. From there she could inform the military command about the situation in the zone, and perhaps arrange for that pretty Special Agent to be rescued. Assuming her curls and teeth were still intact.

But an alternate plan was forming in her head. If her original captor had not been torn apart in the quad bike crash she would have liked to have asked a few questions. Where were they based? What were they doing here? Why take the risks? Perhaps she could find another rider and answer some of these pressing matters.

When the rain cleared, she stepped out carefully on to the main avenue listening carefully for approaching vehicles or swarms of animals. For now, the road was empty. A few dog-sized grazers were chewing on the weeds in the nearby vacant lots, squabbling over the longest pieces of grass, but posing no immediate threat. She kept her movements firm and quiet.

She returned to the pizza store and reeled out the fire hose. She would have preferred a length of wire or a narrower street, but she had to work with the materials she had. After securing it to a coin-operated newsstand she lay it onto the tarmac of the road and rolled it to the other sidewalk. It stretched adequately to a mailbox that she could squat behind.

As she was thinking about how poor a trap it was, a glint of sunlight in the distance caught her attention, followed closely by the racing roar of an approaching motorcycle. She decided that she should take the opportunity presented. If all else failed, she was prepared for a bit of a fight, and the man or woman on the motorcycle had better be prepared too.

**:::**

A Secret Service agent appeared at the office door. "Stay away from the windows, Senator," he said. "There's a problem with wild animals on the ledges outside."

Winters turned back from the closed window blinds. "You may be a little behind everyone else with that news. And that's not just a wild animal, that's something from a zoo for dangerous creatures, maybe even a science lab."

The agent spoke briefly into a radio and returned it to his belt clip. "We're clearing the floor. You should move to the offices below ground level, Senator. We can switch communications to the facilities there." He lifted an arm to encourage Winters to leave.

The crashing and squealing from outside varied from heavy to silent then back to frenetic screeching again. Winters gathered up the most important card files from the desk and locked his desk. He nodded to the agent that he was ready to leave. He took one step and the internal line rang. The agent shrugged and indicated a high level of impatience.

"I'll just take this," said Winters placing the stack of folders onto the desk. "Hello?"

"Going somewhere, Senator Winters?" hissed the circus voice in his ear. "The Committee will miss out on your firm directions." The voice mocked him. Winters paused then looked to the agent at the door. He motioned to the phone indicating that it was an important call. The agent nodded and looked back out into the hall conspiratorially.

"I think all the usual business will be called off today," he said trying to sound casual. "Most meetings will be a day or two later than previously arranged."

"Listen carefully," demanded the Ringmaster. "Those idiots with the Scoop are losing control. All sorts of garbage is leaking thru. And not in a helpful way. Our plans, which are your plans too, will have to react to the emerging situation. In effect, we will be accelerating the timetable. Do you understand?"

"Well, if that is the new arrangement," he said in his casual voice. "We'll have to try to work with that." He felt a little angry that this comic voice was presuming to tell him what to do. But his plans were tied to those of the unseen actors. The Secret Service agent strolled past him to inspect the security of the shaking window frame. He turned to raise his eyebrows to indicate that some urgency was required.

"The Committee members are meeting as arranged," said the Ringmaster. "But we have taken the sensible step of changing the venue to one of the subterranean conference rooms. Do you know where B-351 is?"

"That should be fine. I'll be there." Winters was ready to hang up the phone.

"Winters?" said the voice.

"Yes," said the Senator, his impatience now showing.

"Be ready." The phone went dead.

The window behind the blind smashed inwards in a clouds of feathers, dust, glass and shredded pigeon flesh.

"Get down" the agent shouted as he drew his pistol in a swift motion.

Winters fell backwards, trying to stay on his feet, determined not to crawl on the floor.

The shrieking lizard head burst into the room, its leathery wings jammed into the jagged shards of the window frame. A burst of pistol shots tore into the demonic face tearing at the skin. But the creature was too big and too stupid to know it was hurt and smashed into the room completely. The agent shouted aloud and fired again.

**:::**

Adam was called aside by his boss. "Chat in break times, Adam. We need some work done on the mainframes. Can you organize the detail?"

"Excuse me," said Adam to Oona and headed to the offices at the back of the control room.

Oona sighed and turned to look back at the sea.

"My name is Cain," said a voice from behind. She turned. It was the 'boss'. "I see. And you're the Director? Good to meet you."

"Ah no. The Director is busy right now. I'm in charge of the control room and the Scoop. The Director is in charge of the whole operation." He smiled and winked. "Adam gets a bit excited about how everything is coming together. He thinks he can move around wherever he wants, introduce whoever he wants. It's all getting a bit tight now. We have to get on with our own jobs and leave the socializing behind." He smiled sadly.

"Why don't I get on with the medical things then?" she suggested. It was the only thing she could think of.

"We don't have anyone to fetch and carry for you just now. In fact there was a bit of a mishap with the boat carrying the proper medical team. But if you want to search around the whole of the shopping mall most of the shops have responder facilities and there are three drugstores if you want to accumulate as many pharmaceuticals as you think necessary. Take a cart from the Asia Mart behind the food court."

She nodded. "Where should I set up? I assume you have a sickbay?"

Cain shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you need, you should take. Just as long as it's not on this level; this is the command level."

A sudden thought sent a chill thu her. "What about the gentlemen on motorcycles? Will I be treating them?"

Cain laughed. "Don't worry, Oona. The men and women with guns are happy to live under the mall. It makes life simpler for them if they deal with their own injuries. It makes them a little more sure of any activity they engage in if they have to clean it up for themselves." He smiled reassuringly. "You will only be treating the control group."

"And the Director?" she joked.

"No. Adam will look after the Director. It's his thing." He looked at his wrist-watch. "I won't bore you with the details of the shifts until later. But now's the time to step up. Get your cart and set-up your own little field hospital." He smiled and returned to the central area waving over waiting assistants.

She swallowed the cold remains of the coffee and brushed herself down. She looked around at the visibly busier staff and made her way awkwardly back to the doors she had ascended with Adam. As she opened the door, Adam was standing there out of breath.

"I'm done," he said eagerly. "Can I help you?"

She frowned a little. Adam had at least made her crazy introduction to the crazy situation seem more palatable. But his attention had become a little more than creepy. And she wanted some more time to think about what was happening.

"Cain wanted me to set-up the field hospital. And he wanted you to get on with your own tasks. I don't know what that means, but you can go ask him if you need a refresher."

Adam looked disappointed, but nodded. "I'll catch up with you soon," he said.

She forced a smile and descended the stairs as quickly as possible.

**:::**

Diana looked up again, sparkles burning the edge of her vision. There was a horribly satisfying taste of blood in her mouth. But Lister lay still and twisted on the floor. That was all she needed to know. The details could catch up later.

"I forgot I was still a gentleman," said a deep Southern voice behind her. "I'm sorry you had to go thru that."

She felt the multiple plastic ties around her wrists cracking in succession and a horrible rush of heat as her hands were freed. She felt vomit rise in her throat, but she breathed and looked left and right and let it run over her. She glanced back at the man behind her.

"I used to be a General, believe it or not Miss. But Graves is all we need to say nowadays. No-one will be writing our achievements down." He saluted gently and sadly. "Unfortunately, you are still my prisoner, and that is unlikely to change."

"My name is Diana," she ventured. "I came to write a story for the 'Post'. We crashed and all these things came out and attacked us. I really don't know what's going on."

She turned to look at him properly. Beard, bald hair and round spectacles. He could certainly have been a Civil War general with only a few small changes to his attire. Some old-fashioned charm might work with him.

He tried to light a tiny pipe in his left hand. It did not light, but he started to laugh warmly. "Yes. As soon as I saw you bite those rings off his chest, I thought you had a clear literary style." He laughed again. "I never liked those nipple-things anyway. Not very manly." A small wisp of smoke emerged around the bowl of the pipe. He drew gently on the vapors.

She tried to smile without bitterness. "I didn't say I couldn't get mad." She pulled her brassiere back into shape and tried to pull the torn front of her blouse across the scratches on her chest.

Graves shrugged. "Sure. You can tell me all about yourself later. Here." He lobbed a heavy knitted scarf over to her.

She sized it up and pulled it over her head. It scratched the broken skin, but she felt covered again. "Thank you. Is he dead?" She nodded to the crumpled form beneath them.

Graves puffed again. "You tell me. I arrived during the Third Act. I don't imagine you can actually bite a man to death, but I'm sure the shock would finish him soon enough."

She looked down at Graves, slightly disgusted by his half-clothed body, slightly disgusted by what she remembered, how she had hurt him.

Graves reached under his arm and brought out a small automatic pistol. "Would you like to finish him off?" he asked with a strange interest.

Diana rubbed her face and thought. Then she turned to Graves. "Would you do it for me?"

**:::**

Cynthia collided with the Senator as he fell thru the door into the corridor. "Senator?" she remarked. "Are you still here?"

He put his arm around her and pulled her to the side. A stray bullet whizzed from inside of the office. "Stay back," he tried to reassure her.

There was more commotion from the main staircase. Before he could tilt his head, there was a burst of machine-gun fire which rattled up from below. Almost instantly, a second burst of machine-gun fire echoed from the distant corridors near the main chamber of the House. Panicked screaming began to echo up and then down the corridor. Winters realized the situation was moving out of control much quicker than he would have cared for. He looked back into his office and instinctively pulled back as a swirl of birds and smaller lizards, possibly even bats, swarmed out into the corridor. For a brief second he caught a glimpse of the Secret Service agent entangled in the teeth of the biggest lizard. It was too late to do anything upstairs.

"We have to go now," he said to Cynthia. She dropped her print-outs and rushed to the top of the staircase. Winters kept hold of the bundle of folders in his own grip and encouraged her down the stairs. "Keep your head down," he instructed her.

They reached the lobby and looked around at the devastation. The walls were pock marked by small arms fire. The floors were littered with debris and fallen agents. Blood ran in casual trickles and frantic streaks across the stone of the floor.

"Jesus," said Winters. "We need to get below ground into the bunker rooms." He looked suspiciously at the elevator doors wondering whether they might dare using them to descend further.

"Surely we need to get out of the Capitol, Senator? If those things trap us below ground, we'll have nowhere to run to."

"It looks worse outside. I could see it from my window. If we get into one of the 'privilege' areas, we can seal ourselves in until the swarm clears. We'll send out a signal and be rescued in a few hours."

Cynthia looked unsure. "I have family in Virginia. I want to get to them. That's what I'd rather do."

Winters was going to tell her how foolish she was, but the bell on the nearest elevator chimed and the doors parted. They both turned in anticipation. The journalist, Albie, stood inside, his face marked and torn, barely treated with thin strips of medical tape. He did not step out.

"I've just seen the news feeds on the screens upstairs," he said quietly. "There are flying creatures all around the city, some kind of giant monster around the Lincoln Memorial, crawling things in the river. A news chopper either ditched or crashed in the Pool." He waved them forward. "I'm going down, Senator. As far as I can go. I'm pressing the button now if you two want to come."

The Senator nodded and guided Cynthia into the car. He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a stubby key, then stuck it in the override lock below the numbered buttons. His finger paused over the 'descend' button. The sound of gunfire was getting nearer and more intense. But it stopped suddenly and the brief silence was then filled by screeching and roaring and the crashing of large animals. He pressed the button and the doors closed.


End file.
